


A Little Thing To Give Up

by uistic



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6609202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uistic/pseuds/uistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s expecting a sneer or a scowl, but Reigns just looks at him, the same <i>so done with your shit</i>-look that he used to give him and Dean when they were throwing fries at one another or fighting over the remote in whatever cheap diner or cramped hotel room they'd find themselves in for the night. It makes something inside of him twist uncomfortably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Thing To Give Up

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I'm taking some liberties with the chronology here. I love J&J Security and I'm putting them to work for Seth several months ahead of canon.
> 
> Nothing much happens here. This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction, and it's the start of a longer fic I'm hoping to get around to writing.

The cool air wraps around him as he exits the arena through one of the backstage doors. His ears are still ringing from the jeers that hit him like a wall when he makes his entrance these days, the "you sold out"-chants that get stuck like an earworm, bouncing around inside of his skull when he's going to sleep. That's the only thing about it that bothers him. He likes the heat. It means he's someone to be reckoned with, someone the crowd can love or hate but never ignore.

His car is waiting for him around the corner, ready to take him back to the hotel and a long, hot shower. He’s damn well earned it. He was killing it out there, half a second away from a clean victory, and then Dean fucking Ambrose jumped him. Again. It’s not like he expected Dean to roll over quietly, because Dean has never rolled over quietly once in his life, but these vindictive, childish little ambushes are getting old fast. The Money in the Bank Ladder Match is less than a week away, and he can not, will not, let Ambrose distract him from getting that briefcase.

He takes a moment, leaning back against the wall and relishing the feeling of sore muscles and sweat cooling on his skin when the door opens and light spills out into the street.

"You’re starting to look like a coward,” a familiar voice says.

Roman Reigns is not the last person Seth wants to see right now, but he’s pretty damn close. Where he goes, Ambrose is sure to follow, which means Seth ought to get out of here fast. He doesn't want to look like he's running, though, so he shrugs and pushes himself off of the wall.

”Yeah? Well, you looked like a loser out there, so as far as I’m concerned, I’m still ahead."

He’s expecting a sneer or a scowl, but Reigns just looks at him, the same _so done with your shit_ -look that he used to give him and Dean when they were throwing fries at one another or fighting over the remote in whatever cheap diner or cramped hotel room they'd find themselves in for the night. It makes something inside of him twist uncomfortably.

”I’m not here to fight,” Roman says, in a low voice far from his usual ringside growl. He steps closer. Seth’s not used to thinking of himself as a small guy, but Reigns is built like a brick house, all menace and muscle, and Seth’s acutely aware that ’not here to fight’ could change in an instant. Roman's still in his wrestling gear, skin glistening with sweat, and Seth automatically gives him the once-over, assessing the damage, cataloging every bruise he can see before he forcibly reminds himself that Reigns’ injuries isn’t his problem anymore. ”I just wanna know. Was it worth it? Are you happy now, running errands for the Authority?"

"I did what's best."

"Best for who? Hunter? He's got something on you?"

It'd be funny if it wasn't so sad. Roman Reigns, still looking out for his little brother. It kind of makes Seth wonder what he'd have to do break those last, lingering strands of loyalty. He intends to laugh and is surprised to find that it takes effort and comes out sounding shaky and kind of fake. ”What, after all I’ve done, you’re still hoping for a change of heart? I know what I did. I got offered a deal and I took it."

”It’s not gonna last.” Roman’s voice is flat. ”You’re not gonna be Hunter’s golden boy forever. You think he’ll be there for you if you get injured? You think he’ll back you if you start losing? You traded a team, a family, for what? Money? A bunch of backstabbing corporate assholes who won’t hesitate a second to drop you if there’s profit in it."

”Come on. The Shield had nowhere left to go, you know that. I get that Ambrose can’t see it, he’s all wrapped up in his head with all his little vengeance fantasies, but you-"

He was expecting it, he’s not stupid, but Dean Ambrose's attack still comes out of nowhere. The son of a bitch slams into him hard enough to knock him off his feet, and before he can get up Dean is on him in a flurry of fists and boots and - fucking _hell_ \- teeth.

Seth kicks out, twists, manages to wrest free. "Are you fucking nuts?"

Reigns grabs him from behind, twists back his arms, and he knows where this is going, he's been on the other side of it so many times in the ring. Dean crouches down, grabs his hair, and grins that vicious, manic grin that says there's about to be blood and he doesn't care whose. His matted hair fall into his eyes as he leans forward.

"C'mon, Sethie. Is that really how you talk to your brothers?"

"Let me go, you pathetic-"

The punch hits him right across the face, and his head jerks back against Reign's chest. He's trapped between them with nowhere to go, held so tight that he feels the low rumble in the big man's chest as he speaks.

"Easy, Dean," Roman says.

"No, no, no, don't worry, he wants this. If he didn't, he wouldn't be out here running his mouth." Dean grabs his bruised chin, fingers digging into his cheeks. "Right, Sethie boy? Daddy's not giving you enough attention? You feelin' lonely in your fancy suites and private cars? You need me and Ro to put you in your place?"

He isn't, he doesn't, but it's been one long week and his goddamned body hasn't got with the program yet. It still reads their touch as "safety" and "comfort" and maybe even something else. The mixed signals, safety and danger and Ambrose's sing-song trash talk is going straight to his cock, and it's fucked up and weird and he needs to be out of here now.

He doesn't waste time on words, just kicks out and twists. The angle's awkward but he gets Ambrose's knee, uses the momentum to drive his elbow into Reign's kidney. The grip looses a fraction and he tears himself free, scrambling to get away. The blacktop is wet under his hands and knees, gravel digging into his skin.

”Hey!"

There are feet pounding against the pavement, hands supporting him, helping him up.

"You okay, boss?" Joey asks, brushing him off, while Jamie puts himself between him and his former teammates, and Seth feels like snarling or laughing or, inexplicably, crying.

"Yeah," he says hoarsely. "Let's just, let's get out of here."

Dean is howling with laughter, like J&J Security coming to the rescue is the funniest thing ever, and something in Seth snaps. He lunges forward to choke the laughter out of him but his security gets in the way.

"Whoa, whoa, hey, hold up, boss. You can get 'em in the ring. Come on, car's waiting. Don't want the big man to have to send out a search party. "

It's not a threat, Jamie doesn't have the balls to threaten him, but the last thing he wants is to explain to Hunter why he was caught in a back alley brawl with the remnants of his old faction when he should be back at the hotel with the Authority, strategizing.

"I'll get you, Ambrose," he snarls as he allows his bodyguards to lead him away. It's a weak parting shot and Ambrose just laughs like the deranged wackjob they both know he's not. Even as he walks away, he can feel the weight of Reigns' eyes on him, considering.


End file.
